House of Reeds

flannel pants and bare feet. He regarded the Gandarian hunting rifle with naked distrust.

'You've mistaken my useless commission in the regiment, Master Colmuir, for actual skill at arms. This rifle is longer and heavier than I am.'

'Now, sir – it can only weigh twenty or thirty kilos!' The Skawtsman heaved the weapon up to his shoulder. The heavy wooden stock, inlaid with curlicues of pearl and gold, didn't quite fit into Colmuir's shoulder, forcing him to brace it against his right pectoral instead.

'Bit unwieldy, though…' Colmuir grunted a bit before he could get his hands wrapped around the firing trigger, which was slightly longer than his thumb. A basket-guard resembling an archaic saber enclosed the trigger and the rest of the fittings were etched with tiny scenes of daily life in the northern kujenate.

Tezozуmoc scratched his eyebrow, downed the rest of his coffee and set the cup under his chair. 'I only weigh fifty-five kilos myself, Cuauhhuehueh. If I pick up that cannon, I'll fall over, much less survive shooting the abominable thing.' The prince gestured impatiently at Dawd. 'Sergeant, give me your side-arm. I will demonstrate the extent of my martial skills.'

Dawd hesitated for just a fraction of a second, hand clutched possessively over his Nambu, and then forced himself to hand the weapon over to the prince. Colmuir watched the transaction with equal trepidation. Tezozуmoc spat into the bushes, fumbled off the safety, turned his body like a duelist and pointed the gun at the far side of the garden.

'That potted tree,' he said through clenched teeth and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. The whip crack reports tripped over one another and a pinelike tree two meters to the left of the potted lemon tree shivered, shedding finger-length needles.

Dawd's combat visor – currently configured as a rakish pair of sunglasses – showed the other two bullets miss the pine tree as well and crack into the brick wall at the back of the garden. The lemon tree was unharmed. Tezozуmoc turned, shrugged and tossed the gun to the sergeant, who caught it with both hands – gently as a baby – and immediately cleared the action and safetied the automatic.

'My father – glorious Light of the Heavens which he is – forced a dueling tutor upon me for nine years, Master Sergeant. Among my many faults are unsteady hands and a tendency to flinch. I couldn't hit the side of a ball-court to save my life.' He grinned nastily. 'Thus, your constant presence.'

'But how -' Dawd swallowed the rest of the sentence, catching the furious expression on Colmuir's face. Flushing with embarrassment, he bowed in apology. 'Your pardon, mi'lord.'

Tezozуmoc ignored him, snapping his fingers to summon one of the servants hovering just inside the patio doors. 'Bring me something to drink,' he barked as soon as a timid-looking Jehanan poked its head outside. 'I smelled vodka last night, I'm sure of it – bring me the best you have! Two bottles!' Then the prince turned back to Dawd, who had assumed a stiff parade rest. 'How did I graduate Officer School, you mean? Where I had to show skill with rifle, pistol and blade?'

Dawd remained entirely still, staring fixedly at the puffy clouds cavorting amongst the shining white peaks looming over Gandaris. Tezozуmoc squared his shoulders, planting his bare feet on the ceramic tiles as if he were on parade himself.

'My glorious father would rather have cut out his own heart than stoop to 'speaking privately' with the commandant of Chapultepec. There were no bribes, no gifts, no quiet exchanges of favors.' The prince licked his lips and Dawd caught a glimpse of half-forgotten pain in the prince's face. 'A candidate is allowed to bear his personal weapons in the challenge – a rarely invoked privilege in these modern times, but in common use when a noble Mйxica or Nisei youth was expected to bring his own sword, armor, horses and pistols with him to the Castle. My father sent a man to me the night before the Last Day.'

The prince's lips curled into a sneer. 'He did not come himself. I was provided with a pistol, a rifle and katana of exquisite make. Straight from the workshops in the Radiant Palace itself, I'm sure. Toporosky himself could not have crafted finer weapons. The pistol and rifle were provided with their own custom-loaded ammunition. I wondered if I was meant to use the pistol to end my own life, sparing my father further embarrassment.'

Tezozуmoc scratched the back of his head, still puzzled after so many years. 'I didn't. To be truthful, I was so drunk from the Last Night revels I couldn't even stand up when the man came to deliver the weapons. But in the morning, when I woke up with my head ringing with all the hammers in Hachiman's forge of war, I thought of suicide, and then decided to go ahead anyway. If I failed – well, then, I'd have a bit of revenge on him – blackening his radiant name with a tiny smudge. If I succeeded? Well, then anything was possible, wasn't it?'

The prince's eyes lit, and Dawd saw the servant scuttle up out of the corner of his eye and place a silver- chased platter with three crystal goblets and a chilled bottle of Zlotawoda on a low table. Tezozуmoc ignored the goblets and uncorked the bottle with a smooth, effortless motion. He saluted the sergeant, Colmuir and the distant mountains in turn, then took a long swallow.

'Ahhh…excellent choice. My compliments to…where is our host?' The prince scowled at Colmuir. 'He is remiss in not sitting to breakfast with me. I can tell he is a man of refined and elegant taste.'

'The viscount Gemmilsky is away on a business trip, mi'lord,' Colmuir said with a perfectly straight face.

Tezozуmoc grimaced and lowered the bottle. 'Is he dead?'

'Sir?' Colmuir was taken aback by the furious expression on the prince's face. Dawd was taken aback himself – the young man looked very much like his father when anger sharpened his eyes and made his high cheekbones cut into the dissipated flesh.

'I asked,' Tezozуmoc bit out, 'if he was dead.'

'No, mi'lord! He's…staying at another house while you are here. Perfectly safe.'

Tezozуmoc turned back to Dawd, his fury draining away as the puzzled Skawtsman watched. 'I walked out onto the shooting pitch,' he continued, as if nothing had happened, 'and tried to stand as steadily as I could. You're allowed sixteen rounds at ten, twenty and fifty meters. I took every one. Emptied my ammunition clips and walked to the next marker. Then I did the same with the rifle. By the time I reached the sword-dojo, I wasn't even aware of the hour of the day. The only thing in the whole world was a cord-wrapped sword hilt and the face of the slave they'd put into the dueling square with me.'

A gust of wind rattled the goblets, making Tezozуmoc glance away for an instant. He remembered the bottle of vodka in his hand and took another long swallow.

'An officer is expected to dispatch his opponent with finesse, Sergeant.' Tezozуmoc grimaced, weighing the half-empty bottle in his hand. 'But in the end, all that matters is your ability to spill the teoatl tlachinolli – the divine liquid, the burnt things – for the Empire. The sword-sacrifices at Chapultepec are not diseased or starved or beaten before being put into the square. Do not think they are unskilled men! Their patron saint is Tlahuicole of legend, a captive so valorous the Emperor Moctezuma spared his life again and again, yet the noble Tlaxcalan demanded to be sent to the gladiatorial stone that he might die properly, as befitted one taken prisoner. The man I faced believed implicitly in his divine duty. What could I do but hope to be worthy of him?'

Grimacing, the prince tossed the empty bottle carelessly away. Colmuir almost lunged to catch the unexpected missile, but controlled himself. There was a crashing sound as the heavy imported glass shattered a window, and the sound of scattering feet as the servants fled.

'I am indifferent with the sword,' Tezozуmoc allowed, shaking his head in remembered wonder. 'But that morning – the last day of my life, I thought – I strove to be worthy of a nameless, unknown slave who had volunteered to serve the gods, to serve me by testing my skill with the sacred blade. We fenced – there was a blur of steel – and then he happened to block a kesa giri cut I'd thrown at his shoulder edge-on with his katana.'

The prince snapped his fingers sharply, startling Dawd. 'His blade shattered – broke like cheap glass – and I'd thrust and pierced his heart before I realized what had happened. That much of my training had taken hold.

'Then I was an officer and they put a red mantle over my shoulders and named me Cuahyahcatl as if I'd taken a hundred captives and a dozen towns. All for killing one pious man on a square of sand. An aerocar from the palace came to take me home. Later, I received my letter of commission in the 416th – in this very regiment – yet no orders came for me to take a duty posting. Nothing but staff work in the capital, until this assignment to Jagan.' A wry smile twisted Tezozуmoc's lips. 'And here? Here I command a single Cuauhhuehueh' – he inclined his head towards Colmuir – 'and a